


carry your heart with me

by calerine



Category: Johnny's WEST
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 16:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calerine/pseuds/calerine
Summary: the holiday is surprisingly hamada’s idea.he brings it up a week after their six-month anniversary when they’re at his coffee table with their laptops out, and akito, over a two papers on natsume soseki, already starts daydreaming about croissants by the seine.Just a bit of sweet, slow Kirihama on holiday.





	carry your heart with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fancypineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancypineapple/gifts).



the holiday is surprisingly hamada’s idea. 

he brings it up a week after their six-month anniversary when they’re at his coffee table with their laptops out, and akito, over a two papers on natsume soseki, already starts daydreaming about croissants by the seine. 

-

_ what about austria? _ hamada suggests.  _ you like mozart.  _

_ but croissants, _ akito says, exaggerated pout pulling at his lips.

it makes hamada lean across the couch to kiss him once, then again when akito tugs on his arm for more. 

_ but croissants. _ hamada agrees. 

_ the alps are in france. _ akito offers.  _ you could ski. _

_ and you could watch? _ hamada teases.

akito rolls his eyes.  _ i could ski, too. _

-

their flight is late on a friday night, past midnight after work and they make it to their check-in counter with only eleven minutes to spare. 

the lady checks them in with a pleasant, pasted-on smile, and akito spends the whole interaction trying to get it to reach her eyes. 

_ we almost didn’t make it because this one here had to go back a billion times to get stuff,  _ he tells her conspiratorially. 

she only nods,  _ uh-huh, _ and asks  _ do you prefer a window or an aisle seat? _

in the end, it is hamada who makes her chuckle when he fumbles for his passport for a good thirty seconds, voice already turning thin and panicky before akito points out, laughter making him breathless, that the lady had needed it to print out his boarding pass.

the smile makes her eyes crinkle in the corners.

_ we make a good team, _ akito tells hamada as they jog to the customs counter, luggage trolley so much lighter. an announcement overhead calls out their names.

_ best team! _ hamada agrees and holds his hand out for a resounding high-five that makes an old man swear as they run past. 

-

the first flight passes in a blur. 

the airport in dubai is overcooked burgers and soggy fries and soft drinks that make the both of them too hyped up to sleep. akito buys an e-book about a serial killer in the meiji period using free airport wifi. hamada shifts across 3 airport seats until the neck rest doesn’t cut him in the back. 

the crash comes over iraq, hamada first, then akito curling up against him with the arm rest between them.

_ i’m so excited, _ hamada tells him, voice thick with oncoming sugar dreams about skiing down an icing mountain that never ends. 

_ me too, _ akito replies, breathing turned shallow, his body already heavier than his eyelids.  _ i’m so happy _ , he thinks to say, but then hamada lets out a long snore and akito decides perhaps this is even better. 

-

they land in paris at 9.08pm JST. it takes too long for the both of them to figure out what time is it there. hamada attempts to count before akito finds a clock in the airport. 

it’s 1.08pm in paris. 

_ let’s take a nap, _ hamada tell akito, his body warm and heavy against him as they wait for their luggage at the conveyor belts. across from them, two women share a quiet kiss and a shock shivers its way down akito’s spine. 

he hadn’t thought of it like this. 

_ hang tight, we’re getting to our hotel soon, _ he tells hamada, intertwining their fingers and it makes hamada straighten immediately, surprise in his eyes.  _ we’re on holiday now, you can do anything you want,  _ and hamada follows his gaze to the women.

his posture softens when he finds them, his eyes turning that warm shade that reminds akito of lounging all day on the couch. 

_ i want to eat cake before bed, _ hamada tells him jokingly.

_ we’re going to be so fat when we get back.  _ akito laughs.  _ well at least i will be, you’re going to be exactly the same.  _

he’s is still surprised when hamada just squeezes his hand and without missing a beat, tells him, _and i’ll love you all the same._

_ - _

(they make love immediately upon reaching their room, spread out on the giant bed. hamada presses open-mouth kisses on every inch of akito’s skin until he’s shivering with want. 

_ please, _ he begs, desperation thick in his voice.

_ just let me love you a little, _ hamada murmurs.  _ we’ve got all the time in the world. _ )

-

they spend 4 days in paris. akito doesn’t let go of hamada’s hand. 

they take every narrow alleyway they see, find bars down cobblestone streets that akito clumsily orders drinks at in french. they high-five, they hold hands, they kiss on street corners, hands sweet in each other’s back pockets and no one turns away from them with their faces dark and clouded over.

hamada falls in love with eclairs and insists they enter every patisserie they seen. he gets so good at ordering them in french that his guidebook goes back into his backpack and akito names him the Eclair Master.

_ what’s so great about them?  _ akito asks as they sit outside at a cafe, watching a dog pee on a fire hydrant.

_ they’re just SO GOOD, _ hamada says.

_ as good as croissants? _ akito teases, biting into his third one of the day. the flakes land on his trousers and he brushes them off. 

_ better, _ hamada says and dodges akito’s playful smack easily.

his hand brushes hamada’s hair and finds his hand, slips into it as easy as breathing. 

-

hamada gets them to the louvre on the subway and the two of them take a selfie at the entrance, akito’s face massive in the foreground and hamada’s peace sign on his shoulder.

_ i guess we’ve seen it now, _ hamada says at the entrance and the both of them just stand there taking it all in. 

_ junta-kun’s going to kill us if we don’t go in. _

_ yup. _

_ i’m not really into art though.  _ akito can already imagine junta’s horrified splutters of  _ you went all the way to the louvre and you didn’t go in??! _

_ me neither actually. _ hamada takes akito’s hand again.  _ wanna get ice-cream and sit on the grass? _

_ it’s in the middle of winter, _ akito’s laughing but he’s letting hamada lead him away anyway, in the direction of the ice-cream van they’d seen on the way in.

_ i mean, we did come all the way here. _ hamada points out. 

_ true, _ akito agrees.  _ the least we could do is stay a bit longer.  _

-

a girl selling flowers at the eiffel tower calls hamada akito’s gentleman. 

_ gen...tle...man? _ akito repeats, meeting hamada’s eyes confusedly. hamada flips through his guidebook for the word and doesn’t find it.

_ gentle...man?  _ he echoes, directing the word back to her. 

the girl grins at them, humming for a word they might understand.  _ boyfriend, _ she tries,  _ husband? _

and akito recognises the last one from class.  _ no, no, no, _ he splutters, laughing, his hand waving on its own. 

_ boyfriend, husband,  _ he translates for hamada in japanese, and they make hamada’s cheeks heat. they’ve never used those words with each other before.

_no husband,_ _but -_ akito says in french and english. _but_ _that other one,_ he says in japanese, gesturing. 

_ ah, gentleman. _ the girl says, comprehension dawning. the gap between the both of their worlds close for a moment, bumping gently into each other.  

_ yes, my gentleman. _ he pats his chest with a spread palm. the word sounds so foreign yet so familiar on akito’s tongue.

_ flower? _ she asks again, smiling.  _ for your gentleman? _

_ yes - yesyesyes. _

akito buys two. 

-

on their fifth day, they take a train to chamonix. 

it takes 6 and a half hours. 

akito continues his book about serial killers until hamada insists he tell him the plot. so then he does, low-voiced, with hamada’s feet in his lap and his hand warm on hamada’s ankle. hamada’s nearly too long for their seats, but no one else is in their cabin anyway.

the train conductor came to check their tickets over an hour ago and he won’t be back for another two.

every so often, akito pats his trouser pocket just to make sure their tickets are still there.

the scenery outside eases out from paris, the cobblestone streets and brick buildings, cafes at every street corner to houses and children playing in great big yards, flashes of blonde hair, snatches of laughter, to the expanse of fields, brown with winter’s frost. 

_ so tell me about this new-age serial killer _ , hamada says again, leaning against the seat, sounding sleepy. his words plod along with heavy feet, mud-ladened shoes like when they went to hamada’s family home for in summer and caught  _ medaka _ in the river. akito feels the beat of them in the rhythm of the train, the clanking of metal against metal. 

_ so there’s this girl at the start of the book -  _ he starts, letting the edges of the pages run against his palm, trying to put it all together.

hamada’s asleep before he’s done, of course. nothing has changed. the endless fields outside the windows lull akito to the same place, and he dreams of croissants, so many croissants, endless fields of them. 

the train conductor wakes him up for their tickets, and akito finds himself in hamada’s lap, drool wetting the material of his trousers.

_ tickets, _ the conductor asks. akito hands them over blearily. his legs have cramped up. 

_ thank you _ , he tells the conductor in french when he is done.

then hamada mimes eating,  _ eclair _ ? he asks and the conductor laughs, showing two fingers for the second carriage. 

_ maybe no eclair, _ he tells them, making an x with his arms and saying  _ eclair  _ and miming thinking. 

_ okay, okay, that’s okay. _ hamada points at akito vigorously.  _ croissant, _ he says.

_ who are you calling a croissant!  _ akito immediately retorts, playfully slapping hamada’s head. 

_ maybe croissant yes, _ the conductor tells them, laughing.  _ but him, _ he points to akito.  _ not croissant. _

_ * _

hamada spends all his waking hours on the slopes. 

akito tries for three hours on the first day before the cold starts biting at his bones, and he has to run back into the cafe of the resort, warm his frozen fingers around a cup of hot coffee. 

hamada comes back in around dinner time, snow dusting his hair like icing that akito wishes for a split second he could brush off before he realises he can. by then, the killer in his book has made a mistake that she is about to pay for, and he’s ordered so many warm drinks that he’s made friends with the girl at the cashier. 

_ come back out again tomorrow, _ hamada asks, pink-cheeked and filled with a kind of light happiness that’s always made something in akito’s chest sing.

_ it’s really cold, _ akito tells him.  _ but okay, fine. _

akito lasts 5 hours the next day, then 6 the next, then on their last day, they end up caught in a snowball fight in the early dusk, candyfloss pink getting caught in their clothes and hair and shoes and drenching the carpet of their hotel room after. 

_ - _

( _ thank you, _ hamada tells akito when he sinks onto hamada with a quiet sigh. 

he kisses the long length of akito’s throat, the dip of his collarbones, swallows the sounds of his pleasure when he lifts himself up on his knees, his arms wrapped around hamada’s neck. 

_ nothing to say thank you for.  _ akito tells him, this heat burning through him, chasing away all the cold.  _ i wanted to - i want to,  _ before hamada shifts and his mouth drops open to form another sound entirely.)

_ - _

in the airport, while waiting to board, akito pulls hamada close by their inter-linked fingers for the last time. 

_ thank you, _ he tells hamada in a murmur, as if it’s this morning all over again, in bed with the covers pulled over their heads, putting off getting out.

the crowd ebbs and flows around them. there are japanese tourists now, tired, dragging their carry-ons behind them, arms full of airport gifts. 

hamada grins pleasedly, his eyes turned into slits. akito has to tiptoe to kiss the corner of his lips.

_ i love you, _ hamada says.

_ love you too. _

overhead, the announcement calls out their gate number in french, then english, then japanese.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been to France.


End file.
